Stigmata
by Crowskin
Summary: And they'll all see.


**_stigmata: (n)  
1. A mark of disgrace associated with a particular circumstance, quality, or person.  
2. Marks corresponding to those left on Jesus' body by the Crucifixion.  
3. A visible sign or characteristic of disease; a mark or spot on the skin._**

He was surprised, of course, but there was work to be done.

Sasuke very, very carefully set the kunai against the stretch of skin that still held Itachi's proof of Anbu. He carefully, carefully, pressed down and scraped back, entranced. The skin thinned, peeled away, detached suddenly. Sasuke let out a breath, brushed back his bangs. Nice. Very nice. He felt the same sick satisfaction he sometimes got from picking at a scab, to find that the skin underneath was smooth and pale and whole. He wanted to linger, gently fingering the torn edges of skin, bottom lip twisted white between teeth...

But it was time to move on. He moved to Itachi's face, focused on the scars gained when Itachi did something that was Not Expected Of My Child. (Fugaku was not unduly flustered by homosexuality so long as Itachi continued the family name, but incest was simply unacceptable. Itachi did not defend himself, but looked slightly bemused. Shuisi gained a white streak in his hair and smiled with strained hysteria.)

The eyes were no longer the centerpiece of that prettypretty face, removed long before. (With several scalpels pried out of Kabuto's not at all obliging post mortem fingers. The man was troublesome even in death, and it had taken over a week for his lingering chakra to fade from his tools. Sasuke did not make skin contact with them until cleansed.)

No, the eyes were gone, carefully held in medical vials (Thank you, Kabuto-san, you're so useful,) but that wasn't the point. Sasuke leaned forward, quickly laving his tongue over the old scars. Fresh material was needed for this justsu, specifically Sasuke's DNA. He flicked through the hand seals, a basic medical jutsu, and the scars were gently wiped clean from still alabaster skin. Sasuke wondered why Itachi had never healed them himself, smoothing his thumbs over the now flawless skin, a slight crease in his brow. It was certainly within his abilities, but perhaps Fugaku's lesson lingered longer than he had.

(He does not know, or care. It was nice, very nicely done, which is what really mattered. Sasuke's thin fingernails are scrabbling, seeking entry through the bloodgates again. The wound runs too deep, and he cannot heal. He will pick the scab again...)

(-Itachi's death brings no peace-)

Sasuke began to hum absentmindedly, settling Itachi's head on his lap. (A goze's song, if he remembered correctly. He was frightened that day, though the sunlight was dazzling and Mikoto's eternal pleasure with absolutely _everything _was tangible. He had cried and pressed his face into her skirt.) He hummed the forgotten song, trimmed the bangs back for Itachi, and shaved the back of his head within inches of his skull. He tossed the silky, sticky strands of hair into a small fire and was grateful he was upwind.

"That looks much better, Itachi-koi. I could be looking into a mirror. So handsome..."

....

At sixteen years old, Sasuke had come to match Itachi in height, build, and features. Uchihas always matured quickly, and Sasuke was nearing the end of puberty, despite his age. Naruto, at this point, always dead-last, was barely past childhood...

Sasuke stood up, closed his eyes, stretched. Then he performed a sort of permanent henge; his hair grew several inches, thick and springy, spilled down his slender shoulders. He absently tied it back, annoyed with the weight and new heat along his nape. Then, then he, he--

This took some steeling.

He took the same kunai he used to trim Itachi's hair, brought it to his face, trailed the ancient scars down his own cheeks. An agonized whimper filtered out from clenched teeth, but his hands remained steady until finished. Then he flung it away from him, uttering tiny little sobs and trembling all over. But again his hands were steady as he went through the motions, healing the cuts to faded lines. The wounds were too deep to heal without scarring.

It took some time to wipe away the tears.

But when he did, he was composed. He even had the nerve to smile softly, nervously, with an infantile curiosity that time did not appear to cure.

And this time when he adressed Itachi, it was personal.

"Ne, onii-san, why did you do it...? You never really told me, not really, but you were always quiet, ne? You never liked to share, ever...I guess I'll find out by myself, you heartless bastard! That's what you wanted, right?!"

What had started out as a soft eulogy degenerated into a harsh whisper, almost a shout in its intensity.

Sasuke snorted, abated. Serenity competed with restlessness. A new, quiet, fraility. He pried heavy, bloody metal from Itachi's left ring finger. ("Itachi-nii-san, who do you want to marry when you grow up? "...Hn.") He draped Itachi in an anonymous black cloak. He gathered the ashes from his fire into a small clay urn, which went into his pocket. He slung Itachi onto his back, began to walk.

....

Three days later, Sasuke's body turned up at Konoha gates. The corpse had no eyes, (a fact decidedly worrisome for the council of elders and the ever paranoid Hyuuga clan, both furious and fearful at another lost kekkei genkai.) and missing a patch of skin on his left shoulder where an Anbu tattoo might have gone.

A week after that, Itachi met Kisame at the border between Fire and Wind with spinning, spinning eyes.

**_"Ne, Itachi-kun, how did the family reunion go...?"_**

* * *

Author's Notes: We _like_ violence, don't we, kiddies? Yes we do! You should have realized it when Sasuke grew out his hair. I don't feel like explaining all of the imagery, but if you were confused, email me...

Anyways. A goze was typically a blind woman in Japan who was unable to work and instead turned to music and performance. Their songs were said to sound so sad because they embodied everything people with sight were unable to see. Hence Sasuke's fear, since he relied so heavily upon his eyes and whatnot. Longest one-shot I've done so far. Whoo! I live on sugar, sleep, and reviews! (hint)


End file.
